


Sunday Morning

by lynarcher



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Fluff, Johnlock - Freeform, Johnlock Fluff, M/M, adorableness, because I enjoy cute things
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-13
Updated: 2015-01-13
Packaged: 2018-03-07 09:42:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 645
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3170213
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lynarcher/pseuds/lynarcher
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's a lazy Sunday morning and John cannot help but feel cliche at the entire thing. Especially since the sun is shinning and the birds are chirping and Moriarty has been quiet lately. Really. Rather cliche.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sunday Morning

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Mad_Lori](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mad_Lori/gifts).



> Some adorable Johnlock fluff I wrote for [anotherwellkeptsecret](http://anotherwellkeptsecret.tumblr.com/) and [madlori](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Mad_Lori/profile) (mainly because the two of them combined rekindled my fondness and love for Johnlock). So keep on trucking you awesome ladies.

It was a lazy Sunday morning. John looked out the window over Baker Street and thought it was a bit cliché. The bright sun, the birds chirping outside the window in the trees, even the way the windows seemed to sparkle. But it was just a good day so far. Sherlock hadn't blown anything up, though to be honest, that was just that single time, and it wasn't his fault so much as Moriarty’s. John sipped his tea and leaned back, allowing himself to slouch a bit. Relaxed and content in the sun.

Sherlock was still asleep, and that was fine by John. Just a moment of calm before the storm so to speak.

And that was what Sherlock Holmes was. A storm. He was so brilliant and saw everything about everyone. He could tell one’s life story with a single look and a sharp enough wit to bring the strongest to their knees.

John had seen it so many times. Some heads of state, businessmen, police officers. Not many were spared Sherlock’s remarks. Some, like Lestrade, had learned to roll with it, take it all with a grain of salt, while others had become bitter.

But he… John smiled around his cup of tea before taking a sip. He’d simply fallen in love with the consulting detective. He stretched his legs out in front of him, smiling.

It had not been easy to fall in love with Sherlock Holmes. Well, the falling in love with him part had been easy. It was everything that followed had been interesting. Arguments, police chases, yelling about heads in the refrigerators.

Their first kiss had been in the heat of an argument. John had gotten so fed up with him and how fast he was talking and the fact that the man had wanted to start some insane experiment. John had grabbed him by the lapels of that ridiculously expensive coat and yanked him in for a kiss.

Things had not snowballed from there. It was a steady rise. Each of them had never had a relationship with a man before. Kisses and dates. Cuddles and arguments. They weren't perfect, but it was… It was them. It suited them and John would honestly have it absolutely no other way.

He took a sip of his tea and closed his eyes. It was a bit cliché how happy he felt. But he did not care.

“Morning…”

John opened his eyes and smiled. It seemed he was doing a lot of that lately. Smiling. Especially since they had voiced their feelings for one another. Knowing how the other felt was so much more. John didn't doubt how he felt about Sherlock Holmes. He loved him absolutely. Some would say it was mad. But he didn't care. “Good morning. There’s still some hot water for tea.”

Sherlock edged his way against John, nuzzling against him. “You can get it.”

John dropped a kiss to the mess of Sherlock’s curls and then rolled his eyes. Things never changed. “That would require me to get up Sherlock.”

The half-asleep man made a displeased noise and latched onto John.

He merely chuckled and ran a hand over Sherlock’s leg. “Then I won’t get up.” He sipped his own tea before shifting slightly to set the half empty mug down. He rested his head against Sherlock’s. Yep, all rather cliché.

But John realized that he could live with that. He just wanted to remember this moment right now. He wanted to recall how the sun looked against Sherlock’s skin, how warm he was. He wanted to remember this moment when he couldn't remember anything else. He turned his head and kissed Sherlock’s curls again. “I love you.”

“Tea?”

John rolled his eyes and squirmed out of the man’s embrace. “Of course.” He went into the kitchen, smiling.

Yes, life was wonderful, if a bit cliché.


End file.
